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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330020">Like a Gay Tarantella</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thats_Amore/pseuds/Thats_Amore'>Thats_Amore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Human, Closeted Character, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster America (Hetalia), Heteronormativity, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Racism, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, Mentioned America/England (Hetalia), Mentioned Female Canada/Netherlands, Mentioned Lietbel, Nyotalia, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, mild sexual references</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:07:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thats_Amore/pseuds/Thats_Amore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia is just trying to be an ordinary American teenage girl in the 1950s, but she can't even make it through a waitressing shift without getting distracted by her friend Chiara's legs, along with everything else about her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female America/Female South Italy (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like a Gay Tarantella</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set during the 1950s, but I kept it as happy as I possibly could without being completely unrealistic given the time period. Title taken from the song "That's Amore" by Dean Martin.</p><p>Inspired by this fan art of nyo! America and nyo! Romano in 1950s-era waitress outfits: https://www.deviantart.com/pachimiranda/art/Day-three-Any-AU-Day-576966506</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the middle of the dinner shift at the Mockingbird Diner, and Amelia is staring at Chiara as she takes a customer’s order. Or more accurately, at the smooth, bronzed skin at the back of her knees. Amelia idly wonders if she’s ticklish there. She’s heard Chiara laugh a few times, usually a throaty chuckle at the expense of some student at school, the math teacher who assigned them to sit together on the first day of class, or a customer at the diner. But she’s never heard Chiara giggle uncontrollably.</p><p>Earlier, she had been gazing at Chiara’s ear, where she had tucked her pencil before she walked over to her current booth. Ordinarily, a girl’s ear might be a more innocent place to stare than her legs, but Amelia had fantasized about kissing the shell of Chiara’s ear and nibbling gently, perhaps drawing out a pleased sigh or a moan. So maybe it’s safer to stare at Chiara’s legs, as long as she doesn’t let her mind drift to the idea of crawling in between them, like she sometimes allows herself to imagine late at night with her hand underneath the covers. Amelia doesn’t want to blush too red under the fluorescent lights of the diner. That would make her visible in a way she doesn’t want to be.</p><p>“Your order for table number three is ready,” a voice hesitantly says. Amelia turns to face Tolys, her favorite cook at the diner. He has an understanding, sympathetic expression on his face, probably because he assumes she’s getting tired from the dinner rush. Or maybe he suspects the real reason for Amelia’s distraction, even if he has too much discretion to ever say it out loud.</p><p>“Thanks, Tolys.” She hefts the tray with the order for a married couple and their son, who is probably around seven or eight years old from what Amelia can tell. “Well, time to get back to work, I guess.”</p><p>Tolys gives her a friendly nod, and Amelia turns to walk to table number three with a bright, customer service smile in place. She hands out the cheeseburger with fries to the boy, the club sandwich to the woman, and the meatloaf to the man, and then she heads over to the group of three teenage boys that just sat down in the booth next to the family.</p><p>Her smile doesn’t slip at all as she takes their order for drinks (two chocolate malt milkshakes, and one plain black cup of coffee) even though her feet are starting to kill her in these heels. Chiara always wears heels when she’s waitressing because it gets her better tips from the male customers, and Amelia has taken to doing the same. Madeleine understood Amelia’s reasoning when she explained why she swapped out her saddle shoes for red baby doll pumps soon after Chiara started working at the diner, but Amelia hadn’t told Maddie that she was hoping Chiara might notice her in the heels just like the male customers would.</p><p>There are some things Amelia can’t tell anyone, not even her twin sister.</p><p>When Amelia goes to put in the order for drinks, Chiara is at the coffee machine, muttering about a goddamn stronzo as she fills up a mug.</p><p>Amelia frowns. She’s only known Chiara a few months, but she’s heard her talk about stronzos enough to know that word doesn’t mean anything good. “One of the customers getting to you?”</p><p>Chiara’s glare is sharp enough to cut through glass. “The man at table number one. He called me sweetheart, and I just thought he was being polite since he’s old enough to be my grandfather. But then he pinched my butt when I was walking away from him.”</p><p>“Ugh, what a pig. Do you want me to cover that booth for you?”</p><p>Chiara shakes her head, and her dark, chestnut hair shimmers under the golden lamplight. “Don’t bother. He’d probably pull the same shit on you. I hate it when guys act like this. It’s bad enough when they stare at you like a piece of meat even though they know you’d never want them, you know?”</p><p>Amelia nods. “Yeah.” She can’t remember ever wanting a guy, not even the guys she’s gone on dates with. Her throat feels unreasonably tight with all the secrets she’s keeping locked inside.</p><p>“Anyway, I gotta go serve the old dickhead his coffee. See ya later, Ames.”</p><p>“See ya.”</p><p>Chiara brushes past her, and Amelia gets a whiff of her perfume. Citrus and jasmine, and Amelia’s mouth waters like she’s thirsty for something other than a milkshake or coffee. Amelia would gladly drown in the scent of her friend.</p><p>Amelia sighs and pours a cup of fresh black coffee for her customer. <em>Am I any better than the guys who leer at her like a piece of meat? Kiki probably wants me less than a geezer old enough to be her grandfather.</em></p><p>After getting the milkshakes, she walks over to the three teenage boys, who must be in a different grade or go to a different school since she doesn’t recognize any of them. One has chocolate brown hair, but she doesn’t imagine running her fingers through it like she found herself daydreaming about doing to Chiara a few minutes ago, and he hasn’t even slicked it back with too much hair gel. All of the boys are cute enough, Amelia supposes, but when they smile at her, they don’t make her heart flutter the way Chiara can with a simple scoff of disdain.</p><p><em>I am so fucked</em>, Amelia thinks.<em> So royally fucked.</em></p><p>The boys decide what they want to eat, and Amelia writes their order down dutifully with a fake grin on her face. She has to keep up the appearance of normality after all, and not just at the diner. At school, at home, everywhere she goes, Amelia has to pretend she’s an ordinary teenage girl, not a degenerate invert consigned to a life of misery, if she can even have much of a life at all. What good is a woman’s life without a husband or children, after all?</p><p>The only women she’s seen like her have been on the covers of titillating paperback novels they sell at the corner drugstore. Amelia usually goes out shopping with Madeleine, her mother, or a friend, but even if she were alone, Amelia wouldn’t be brave enough to buy one of those novels and see how closely a literary depiction matches up with her lived reality. Everywhere else, Amelia might as well not exist.</p><p>The closest she’s come to telling anyone the truth was a whispered confession to Madeleine once that she’d rather do something with her life than be a housewife. She’s always imagined herself taking to the skies, like Amelia Earhart, the legendary aviatrix who shares her first name. Or maybe she could fly to space someday, if they ever developed a rocket capable of carrying a human there. Madeleine had nodded seriously and mentioned her dream of studying wildlife up in Canada, polar bears in particular. Madeleine knew she would be lucky if she got to teach biology to high school kids someday. Being a stewardess is probably the closest Amelia will ever get to a cockpit.</p><p>Madeleine likes boys. She has been going steady with one for more than a year now, and she seems to sincerely appreciate Johannes in a way Amelia has never been able to appreciate any of the boys she briefly dated. Amelia didn’t tell Madeleine about her abnormality, because as far as she can tell, it isn’t one Madeleine shares. It isn’t one <em>anyone</em> shares. In fact, most of the girls she knows have a steady beau. Chiara doesn’t, since she only recently moved to town, and her younger sister Felicia doesn’t either. Amelia doesn’t understand exactly why Felicia’s friend Monika doesn’t have a steady, but maybe she’s just shy. Amelia isn’t shy, and contrary to what she tells everyone, she isn’t having fun playing the field.</p><p>She likes some of the boys she’s dated well enough to keep them as friends, but never as anything more. It isn’t fun to go on dates with people she can’t see herself liking that way, not when she would rather neck Chiara in a drive-in theater than some boy who won’t smell like jasmine or citrus fruit.</p><p><em>Maybe I should try going steady with someone</em>, Amelia thinks. <em>Just to see if it will make me normal.</em></p><p>Amelia’s smile remains fixed on her face as she puts in the order from the boys, when she serves it to them a few minutes later, and when she checks in on the family and refills the mom’s cup of coffee. Deep down, she knows it’s hopeless, but Amelia resolves to consider her options during her scheduled break.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <hr/>
</div><p>During her break, Amelia sucks down a strawberry milkshake through a straw and writes a list of boys’ names on her notepad. She crosses most of them out after a moment of consideration. Kevin told bad jokes and expected Amelia to giggle the way she would when Chiara made a sarcastic quip, smirking like she didn’t care if anyone appreciated her humor or not. Donald tried to grope her at the drive-in theater, which was really presumptuous for a first date. Larry was funny and respectful, but Amelia couldn’t stand to be within five feet of the poor boy due to his severe case of halitosis. Kissing Larry would’ve been a complete nightmare.</p><p>“They’re duds,” Amelia mutters to herself. “They’re all duds.”</p><p>There are a few that aren’t horrible choices. Nick, but he’s going steady with Carolyn, and Amelia crosses his name out when she remembers that. Michael might be worthy of consideration, and so would Arthur, the boy she had most recently dated.</p><p>Arthur was nice. He had a posh British accent Amelia’s mom practically swooned over when he politely introduced himself before taking her daughter out for the evening. Arthur’s accent was pleasant, but it wasn’t the smoky Italian voice she imagined calling her things like <em>cara</em>. Arthur held the door open for Amelia when she got into his car, claiming that it was the “gentlemanly” thing to do, and he did the same when they got to the charming bookstore his mother owned. A poetry reading was an unconventional first date and not normally something Amelia would have enjoyed, but it was kind of cute to see Arthur’s eyes light up like he was a little kid. Unfortunately, it was the same kind of cute it had been when Amelia and Maddie’s parents surprised Maddie by getting tickets to a professional hockey game last December. Arthur’s green eyes were pretty in an abstract sort of way, but Amelia preferred hazel brown ones that made a shiver go down her spine.</p><p>Amelia just couldn’t make herself like Arthur that way, even when he kissed her goodnight after dropping her back at home. Arthur had seemed to feel the same way, judging by the way his thick eyebrows had furrowed after he pulled away from her. The downturn of his mouth and the disappointment in his eyes communicated that he wished things could have been different better than words ever could.</p><p>But Amelia isn’t sure if she should cross out his name yet. Maybe it would be better if she went steady with a boy who didn’t like her either. Tolys had never seemed interested in her and had never asked her on a date for that reason, but Amelia added him to her list anyway.</p><p>There were other boys whose names she didn’t add to the list. Monika’s brother Gilbert was someone her parents would never approve of. Not only was he several years too old for Amelia, but he was German. That shouldn’t have mattered since he immigrated to America as a child when his parents were trying to <em>escape</em> the Nazis, but her uncle Bobby had died fighting Germans in the war. As a result, Amelia’s parents still had some prejudices she wouldn’t want to subject a boyfriend to. Ivan was <em>Russian</em>, and her Canadian mom might not care, but her American father would probably accuse Ivan of being a secret KGB spy in a fit of patriotic fervor. Kiku was as polite as Arthur, but he was completely out of the running because he wasn’t white. His Japanese ancestry didn’t bother Amelia, but picking an Asian boy to be her steady beau would be just as bad as telling her parents she was going steady with a girl.</p><p>She’s down to Michael and Arthur. Michael is a wide receiver on the football team, but his letterman jacket isn’t half as cool as Uncle Bobby’s bomber jacket, which had been collecting dust in her dad’s closet before Amelia discreetly stole it from him. Arthur doesn’t have a letterman jacket, but he might have a pin or some other token to display a relationship Amelia wouldn’t care about displaying in the first place.</p><p>“Are you okay, Amy? You haven’t even ordered fries, which is extremely fucking weird for you.”</p><p>Amelia immediately covers her messy list with her forearm before Chiara can see it. “I’m fine. Just not hungry, I guess.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Her eyebrows lift skeptically like she doesn’t quite believe Amelia, but she doesn’t probe more into her lie. She glances over Amelia’s head, where one of the cooks must be bringing out a meal she needs to serve to a customer.</p><p>Chiara puts her hand on Amelia’s shoulder and squeezes it supportively. “I’ve gotta go now, but let me or Emma know if you change your mind and decide you want something to eat.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Amelia replies breathlessly, way dizzier than she should feel from her gorgeous friend squeezing her shoulder for a second at most. Amelia belatedly realizes how dumb she’s acting and clears her throat, plastering on a bright smile for good measure. “I’ll definitely do that.”</p><p>Chiara smirks as she releases Amelia’s shoulder to grab her tray. “Whatever you say, bella.”</p><p>Amelia nearly melts right off her barstool at the counter, and she watches Chiara’s hips sway as she struts away. Fuck, Chiara is pretty, all the way from the red ribbon at the top of her wavy hair to her black heels clicking on the terrazzo floor of the Mockingbird Diner. No boy can possibly compete with that.</p><p>At the end of her unlabeled list, Amelia writes down one more name: <em>Chiara Vargas.</em> She finishes her strawberry milkshake and considers how Chiara would look in her deceased uncle’s bomber jacket. The jacket would be even bigger on Chiara than it is on Amelia. She’d look adorable wearing the oversized jacket, with leather sleeves dangling past her fingertips and her blushing face framed by the shearling collar. She’d look even cuter snuggled under Amelia’s arm, telling her something sappy in Italian with a relaxed smile on her face.</p><p>Amelia is grinning down at her notepad, completely unaware of her surroundings when Emma walks up to her. “Your break’s up, Amy. You’ve got a couple of new customers at table three.”</p><p>“Right.” Amelia closes her notebook, tucks it into the pocket of her apron along with her pencil, and straightens an imaginary wrinkle in her blouse. As she heads off towards table three, Emma whispers conspiratorially to her.</p><p>“What were you writing about? You were looking at your notebook the same way I’d look at a box of kittens.”</p><p>“It’s kind of personal. I’m not sure how to explain it.” She doesn’t know how to explain that Chiara is cuter than five hundred boxes of kittens.</p><p>“Ah, I see. You’ve got a secret crush. He must be a major dreamboat to make you smile like that.”</p><p>Amelia’s smile doesn’t wobble at Emma’s naïve usage of the incorrect pronoun. Emma winks at her and leaves before Amelia has to add to the lie, something Amelia is secretly grateful for. But as she takes down her new customers’ order, Amelia is looking forward to the end of her shift, when she won’t have to fake a smile because she’s a waitress and smiling gets you better tips. If she has to put on a front, at least it won’t be for that reason.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <hr/>
</div><p>Amelia looks forward to Fridays. On Fridays, Tolys and that cook he has a crush on, Natalya, are assigned to clean up the kitchen, and Amelia and Chiara wipe down the counters and clean up any mess in the main dining area before closing up. The rumbling of the dishwasher covers most noise, so it’s one of the few times Amelia gets to be relatively alone with Chiara.</p><p>A couple minutes after Natalya and Tolys leave the restaurant, a popular tune that is honestly too perfect for this situation begins to play out over the radio that they’ll have to turn off later. Amelia turns to Chiara with a bright grin.</p><p>Chiara narrows her eyes in warning. “Don’t even think about it, idiota.”</p><p>Of course, that doesn’t stop Amelia. She starts singing right in time with Dean Martin, twirling her dirty dishrag like it’s a floral bouquet as she dances closer to Chiara.</p><p>“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore,” she sings, adding a cheesy wink at the end of the line.</p><p>Chiara starts wheezing with laughter. “Oh God, you have the worst singing voice ever!”</p><p>The insult bounces right off Amelia like water off a duck’s back, and she keeps singing, well aware that she’s too loud and probably off-key. “When the stars seem to shine like you’ve had too much wine, that’s amore.” She gently nudges Chiara with her elbow, and Chiara dissolves into a fit of uninhibited giggles. She’s not even pretending to wipe down the counter anymore.</p><p>Amelia’s heart stops for a second, then it starts beating again double time. Dean Martin sings about vita bella and a gay tarantella without her accompaniment. Eventually, Chiara calms down enough to gasp out a sentence.</p><p>“Amy, you should really stick to your day job.”</p><p>Amelia snorts. “You think I should serve milkshakes and hamburgers forever?”</p><p>Chiara’s smile softens a little. Her face is still flushed, and there’s still a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, but she looks remarkably sincere. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to. Except sing like Dean Martin.”</p><p>“Point taken. I wouldn’t even know what pasta fasul is if I hadn’t eaten it at your house one time.” She can feel Chiara’s eyes on her as she turns to scrub at a gross looking cheese stain that must have been the result of someone being sloppy with their patty melt.</p><p>Usually, she’d be the one staring at Chiara, but right now she doesn’t trust herself not to kiss her friend. Not after she said something as sweet as that. Boys have said lots of flattering things and might have meant them, but none of their compliments have affected Amelia like this.</p><p>The silence has stretched on a little too long, so Amelia decides to fill it. “I… uh, also think you could do anything you wanted. Except you actually could be a female Dean Martin.” Amelia’s heard Chiara sing a few times in the barely audible way a person does when they’ve got a song stuck in their head, and her voice is far more melodious than anything that could ever come out of Amelia’s mouth.</p><p>Amelia can’t feel Chiara’s gaze on her anymore. She’s started wiping down the counter again. “Really? You think so?” The question is light and curious.</p><p>“I know so. You could be anyone you wanted, get anyone you wanted…” <em>Unlike me, because I was stupid enough to want someone I could never have.</em> Amelia takes a shuddery breath to hold back a flood of emotion that would likely result in tears. “The world is your oyster, Kiki.”</p><p>Dean Martin is still singing about amore in old Napoli, and the cheese is sticking to the counter like super glue. Amelia grits her teeth and scrubs harder at the counter. “Geez, what the hell do they put in this stuff?”</p><p>“Cement, probably. I’ll get it for you, cara.” She delicately pushes Amelia’s hand out of the way, and Amelia stumbles backwards.</p><p>The briefest touch from Chiara makes Amelia feel like her skin is on fire. This and the time Chiara asked to borrow a protractor at the beginning of math class are the closest Amelia will ever get to holding Chiara’s hand.</p><p>So many boys have probably held that hand with the impeccably polished red fingernails, and others will in the future. A few less have kissed those soft, full lips, pursed as she concentrates on cleaning up industrial-grade cheese from a diner counter. Some really lucky boy will pull back a white veil shielding that beautiful face after a priest tells him he can kiss his bride, and he will get things no other boy (and certainly not Amelia) will ever have. Amelia wrings her soiled dishrag like it’s her heart, frayed and grimy beyond recognition thanks to feelings that make her so different, so wrong compared to other girls.</p><p>Chiara actually manages to remove the stubborn piece of cheese, and then she glances up at Amelia. “You know, you’re spectacularly bad at hiding your feelings. You probably shouldn’t be an actress either.”</p><p>“I’m, uh, not sure what you mean.” Amelia is fidgeting with the dishrag so much that she might accidentally tie her hands together with it.</p><p>Chiara sighs, and she leaves her own dishrag on the counter as she takes a few steps towards Amelia. “I think you know <em>exactly</em> what I’m talking about.” The expression on her face is identical to the one Tolys had earlier, when he caught her staring at Chiara’s legs, and Amelia can’t hold back her tears anymore.</p><p>“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Oh God, you must hate me!” Amelia is sobbing into her hands. She must have dropped the dishrag at some point.</p><p>Suddenly, warm, slender arms wrap around her, and she’s surrounded by the scent of jasmine and citrus fruits. “You don’t have to cry, dolcezza. Liking someone isn’t the worst thing in the world, even if it’s someone people say it’s wrong for you to like.”</p><p>Amelia bites her lip. “I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me. Even though I’m a…” She’s too ashamed to even say the word. “I thought for sure you’d want nothing more to do with me if you ever found out.”</p><p>“If I stopped being your friend, I wouldn’t have anyone to remind me of trigonometry formulas, and I’d probably fail Miss Mackenzie’s class. That would be incredibly fucking stupid of me.” Chiara is clearly attempting to lighten the mood.</p><p>Amelia laughs weakly. “I see. You’re just keeping me around for my impressive math skills.”</p><p>“That’s not the only reason,” Chiara murmurs, so quietly Amelia wonders if she imagined it. “I might understand more than you think.”</p><p>Chiara abruptly pulls away from the hug, and the smile she shoots Amelia is fragile and insecure. She blushes and nervously toys with the small golden cross she habitually wears in a chain around her neck. The sight is bizarrely similar to when Eddie Robinson gave her a Valentine in the third grade. Of course, Eddie had an enormous childhood crush on her, and there’s no way Chiara could feel the same way Amelia does. Right?</p><p>Amelia flaps her lips uselessly a few times before she manages to make any noise come out. “You… but I thought you liked boys!”</p><p>She chuckles. “I do, but not any of the ones we go to school with. A lot of them are morons, or they’re bastardos like that old man who thought he had the right to touch me. Even the ones I can stand are all duds compared to you.”</p><p>Amelia smiles, remembering all those names she had crossed out earlier. “I think they’re duds too. You’re in an entirely different league from any boy I've ever met.”</p><p>Chiara’s blush deepens as she shyly glances away. She’s obviously pleased by the compliment. “Grazie. Before tonight, I was actually considering becoming a nun. It seemed like a more appealing option than ending up with some of the boys at our school.”</p><p>Amelia hesitantly steps closer to her. “Is it bad that I’d still think you’re a total knockout in a nun’s habit?” Amelia wouldn’t get to see her legs, but she would still have a clear view of her face, and that would be more than enough.</p><p>Chiara smirks up at her. “A little sacrilegious, maybe.” She lifts her hand and brushes her thumb over Amelia’s cheek. “But I still think you’re stunning with black mascara running down your face, so I figure it evens out in the end.”</p><p>Amelia’s face starts to drift down, as if pulled in by the gravitational force between them. “Can I kiss you right now?”</p><p>“I was hoping you would.”</p><p>Amelia carefully places her hand on the side of Chiara’s neck and closes the distance between them. Her eyes flutter shut of their own accord, but color bursts across the inside of her eyelids regardless. Her lips part when Chiara’s tongue flicks across them, and she whimpers when Chiara sensually licks her way into her mouth. This doesn’t feel slimy or horrible the way it did when boys tried to French kiss her at the end of a date. For the first time ever, Amelia is enjoying a kiss so much she doesn’t want it to end. For the first time ever, a kiss is something she craves instead of something she endures for the sake of appearances.</p><p>Their lips separate with a wet pop, and eventually Amelia’s eyes open. Chiara is staring up at her with starry-eyed wonder, and Amelia desperately wants to kiss her again.</p><p>Instead, she babbles something stupid. “I inherited a bomber jacket from my uncle who died in the war. If I was a boy who could go steady with you in public, I’d give it to you at school tomorrow.”</p><p>Chiara smiles sadly at her. “If I could, I’d wear that jacket every day, and I’d bring you home to meet my parents. But unfortunately, I don’t think I can even tell my little sisters about us.”</p><p>“I can’t tell Madeleine either.” Normally, she’d tell Madeleine everything. If circumstances were different, she’d hold Chiara’s hand and brag about her amazing new girlfriend to everyone she spoke to, but that’s not the world either of them live in.</p><p>All she and Chiara can have are stolen moments in empty places hidden away from the judgmental gazes of other people. Amelia hopes this won’t be the last stolen moment she gets, her only chance to be happy.</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t know how this is supposed to work, exactly,” Chiara says, hand gesturing back and forth between their bodies. “But I want it to keep working, you know?”</p><p>Amelia nods, relieved that this doesn’t have to end, at least not yet. “I want it to keep working too. I think I might be in love with you, so…”</p><p>“You’re insane, but I think I might be in love with you too. God help me.”</p><p>Amelia’s giggle is muffled when Chiara tugs on the collar of her blouse and leans up to kiss her. She kisses like she’s starving for the contact, and Amelia eagerly reciprocates to the best of her ability.</p><p>By the time Chiara pulls away, her face is red, her lipstick is smudged, and she’s obviously embarrassed. She tugs on her apron, which didn’t get knocked askew with a standing kiss. “We should… uh… counter.”</p><p>Amelia laughs. “Yeah.” She doesn’t tease Chiara for the fact that she’s seemed to lose her grasp of the English language. At the moment, Amelia doubts she would be much more articulate, and English is her <em>first</em> language, unlike Chiara.</p><p>They finish cleaning the countertop and the tabletops, and they remove their aprons and leave them in the back before they exit the diner. Amelia wipes her face clean of mascara so she won’t look like she’s been crying in front of anyone else. When they’re ready to go, Amelia turns out the lights, and Chiara locks the glass and chrome doors behind them.</p><p>“So I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then?” Amelia says, mostly so she can keep Chiara around for a few more seconds.</p><p>Chiara clears her throat. “I could drop by your house tomorrow afternoon, if you aren’t busy then.”</p><p>“I’m never too busy for you,” Amelia says sweetly, voice dripping with affection. “You know that.” She will enjoy spending time with Chiara tomorrow, even if the presence of her sister or her parents makes it too dangerous for them to kiss or act like anything more than close friends.</p><p>Chiara glances at the opposite side of the street. Amelia looks in that direction and sees a man walking his dog. They won’t be able to share a good night kiss this evening.</p><p>But the hug Chiara gives her is nice. Really, really nice. Amelia returns the embrace, holding her best friend (now secret girlfriend) as closely as she can without arousing too much suspicion from the unknown dogwalker.</p><p>“Ti amo,” Chiara whispers. Her breath tickles Amelia’s skin, and the sound of her voice makes Amelia’s stomach do somersaults.</p><p>“Ti amo,” Amelia whispers back to her.</p><p>The dogwalker can’t get a close view of them from this distance, so Chiara risks brushing her lips against Amelia’s neck, lighter and swifter than the flight of a dove’s wing. Amelia clutches Chiara’s waist and barely manages not to collapse in her baby doll pumps. Her legs feel more like Jello than bone and muscle right now.  </p><p>Chiara lowers her arms and steps out of the embrace, but she looks about as reluctant as Amelia feels. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amelia.”</p><p>“Good night, gorgeous.”</p><p>Chiara grins before she turns on her heel to walk away, and Amelia heads in the opposite direction, where her house is located.</p><p>The moon is a waxing gibbous in the sky, and it doesn’t really resemble a pizza (maybe if you ate part of the crust). Amelia doesn’t exactly dance as she walks down the sidewalk, but her feet hurt a lot less than they normally would after several hours of waitressing in her high heels, like she’s walking with clouds at her feet instead of concrete.</p><p>Amelia hums the melody to “That’s Amore” as she floats into her house, and she exchanges a few words with her mom and dad, who don’t remark on their daughter’s unusually happy disposition. The only one who notices anything is Madeleine, who glances up from the book she’s reading as Amelia passes by her bedroom.</p><p>“Have a good shift today?”</p><p>“I did.” Amelia removes her star-shaped earrings and smiles contently. “Chiara might be dropping by tomorrow.”</p><p>“That’s nice. Hopefully, I’ll get to see her when she comes over.” Madeleine and Chiara are friends too, if not as close as Amelia and Chiara are (especially after tonight, but that’s a secret between the two of them).</p><p>“Good night, Maddie.”</p><p>“Night, Amy.”</p><p>Amelia knows she isn’t dreaming as she takes a bath, brushes her teeth, and changes into a nightgown. But as she’s snuggling under the covers, she feels like the world has that fuzzy, not quite real softness that always accompanies her happier, more ridiculous dreams. She falls asleep that night with the memory of Chiara kissing her looping through her mind like a vivid movie, the sound of a Dean Martin song stuck in her head, and a mischevious, secretive smirk making her lips turn up at the corners.</p>
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